Coming Up Hollow
by Running Up Fawn
Summary: J/S, Post-FO2. He came to try and fill the emptiness.


Title: Coming Up Hollow

Author: Lauren / Running Up Fawn

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Samantha, Jack, Barry and Marie belong to CBS, Steinberg, Bruckheimer and..not me. The song, "Sympathy" belongs to the Goo Goo Dolls.

Author's Note: Another post-ep for Fallout, and another songfic..I can't help that every song I listen to reminds me of Jack and Sam. Can I? Quote from the episode in stars, lyrics in italics. ((Thanks to everyone at Maple Street for being so amazing, and to Jordan, for beta-ing this.))

***  
"You're such a selfish, selfish, selfish petty man. All the things that are happening in the world and you can't figure out how to love your wife. The mother of your children. You're so apathetic, you let it fall apart? "  
***  
  
_I wished for things that I don't need  
(All I wanted)  
And what I chase won't set me free  
(It's all I wanted)  
And I get scared but I'm not crawling on my knees..  
  
_ He'd just talked down a panicked, grief-stricken man with a deadly weapon that, at times, Jack was sure he was capable of using. He'd aided in the release of seven hostages and had gotten the hostage taker out unharmed.  
Jack had never felt so defeated.  
The air swirled around him, its gentle insistence promising a cleansing, a purging that it couldn't deliver. As he walked, Barry's accusations rang in his ears, shocking him even now with their raw brutality. "You can't figure out how to love your wife." The words hit Jack harder than any physical blow he'd ever received. Barry's voice had been scornful, disgusted, but Jack had also detected a twinge of pity, and that was the worst part. Barry felt sorry for him, because he assumed that Jack was too blind to see and appreciate everything in front of him. 'Well, it's not that fucking easy, Barry,' Jack rolled the angry thought around in his head as he continued walking. Barry's devotion to his wife was pure, and a part of Jack wished for that, for a love so simple, and clean, and unmitigated. For a love that wasn't deemed 'wrong' and 'immoral' by the same society he strove to protect. Jack wanted that, but he couldn't have it, not with his wife. When compared to the depth of Barry's love for Nicole, Marie was little more than a stranger to Jack. It was easy, for Barry. The love between a husband and wife, it came so effortlessly to him. It was easy for Barry. He didn't have a Samantha.  
  
_Stranger than your sympathy  
And all these thoughts you stole from me  
I'm not sure where I belong  
Nowhere's home and I'm all wrong..__  
  
_ Samantha. She was what Barry didn't, couldn't, understand. How could he, when Jack himself didn't? It had started out as a fling, a meaningless physical release for both of them. Jack couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had changed, evolved into something much deeper and more dangerous, but he remembered a particular afternoon with perfect clarity: They had been finishing up a case, sifting through the last of their tedious paperwork. Samantha had been joking with Danny, and she'd looked up at him. He'd been looking at her, too, tossing what he hoped were subtle glances her way. It was strange, the need he felt to just glimpse her, to keep her in his sight. Her smile had broadened, and light jumped into those dark eyes, and it was such a subtle change, but Jack knew it was there because he felt the same thing himself. And that night, at her apartment, there had been no sex. Instead, they'd talked for hours, her slender body wrapped around his as she traced slow, mindless patterns on his chest. He still remembered the silky texture of her hair as he'd toyed with it, twisting it idly around his fingers as they exchanged thoughts, ideas, playful teases, and, he realized now, something deeper. He remembered watching Samantha sleep, curled around him, as the dim moonlight played on the curves of her face and the blonde of her hair. That night, Jack had realized that, just as she put everything into her work, Samantha had put one hundred percent of herself into this...thing, between them. He wasn't sure what to call it, because it wasn't an affair any longer. It couldn't be an affair, not when they were both so at ease with each other, and certainly not when a night of trading stories, and jokes, and touches filled with true affection offered them both more pleasure than anything merely physical could. It was wonderful, really, the connection that flowed between them. It was wonderful, and Jack didn't, couldn't, regret anything he and Samantha had shared. But it was dangerous, too, on more levels than one. Their jobs, especially his, were placed more and more at jeopardy with every look, every touch, every kiss that passed between them. In peril also was Jack's objectivity, his willingness to send Samantha into risky situations. Not that she would ever let him hold her back, but the uncertainty he felt when she was in the field grew as each day passed. More importantly, though, he was a danger to Samantha. He was a danger, because he was weak. He could never let her go, and yet he could never give her what she wanted, what she deserved. She deserved what Barry gave his wife; a pure, uncomplicated love, a love that was hers and hers alone. Jack wished, with every fiber in him, that he could offer this to Sam, offer to her exactly what she was willing to give him. But a part of Jack would always fall victim to the accusations of society, and so he held back, and pretended not to be desperately, completely, in love with her.  
  
_And I wasn't all the things I tried to make believe I was  
And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted  
And all the talk and all the lies were all the empty things disguised as me..__  
  
_ Jack was so sick of pretending. He was sick of pretending, yet here he was, taking a deep breath and opening the door to the silent, still house where Marie and his daughters were sleeping. His daughters; they were simple enough. Sweet, innocent and beautiful, it was so easy to love them. Marie, though. Marie was where the complications rested. He settled into a chair next to her bed, and, as always, acknowledged, then finally accepted, the feeling of emptiness, the nothing that struck him when he looked at her. It wasn't supposed to be this way. The woman who made him feel, who filled him so completely with her spirit and vitality, the woman who loved him..he should have been looking at her. But he wasn't. He cared for Marie, of course..how could he not care about the mother of his children? But his feelings for her ended abruptly there. No matter how hard he tried, there was a void inside him that Marie could never fill, not even if she wanted to. And Jack was tired of trying. He was tired of catering to society's views of right and wrong, especially a society that was so twisted and backwards itself. He was tired, but he was here. Jack wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt he owed it to Barry, to try one final time to make things work with Marie. The idea itself was kind of absurd, that one had to try to love one's spouse. It was supposed to be natural. Still, the anguish he had seen in the other man had prompted him to come here, in an attempt to fill the emptiness he felt when he thought of Marie, and maybe grasp onto a surviving thread of any kind of warmth, of affection, that remained between them.  
It didn't work. The joy, love, and devotion he should have felt for the woman to whom he had dedicated his life had been missing for a very long time. He'd found them again, but they now belonged to someone else. Jack was through with being weak, through with being society's puppet, through with feeling numb, empty, and cold. 'Sorry, Barry,' was his final thought as he stood up, leaving both the room and Barry's harsh accusations behind. He had a hospital to visit.  
  
_Yeah, stranger than your sympathy  
Stranger than your sympathy..__  
  
_[end]


End file.
